The long way home
Documenting a month of deliberately inefficient commutes, one detour at a time.
The premise is small: for one month, never take the fastest route home. The camera came along. What began as a joke about map apps became, somewhere in week two, a film about attention — about how a city you cross efficiently is a city you never actually enter.
The detours produced their own cast. A courtyard with a bathtub full of succulents. A bar that only seems to exist on Tuesdays. Two chess players in a doorway who let me film their hands but not their faces, which was the correct artistic decision and they knew it.
Eleven minutes, handheld, cut to the rhythm of walking. The soundtrack is an unedited voice memo of my own footsteps, which sounds like a gimmick and plays like a heartbeat.
The player lands with the media phase; the poster is a procedural stand-in in this film's shade until stills are ready.